


monochrome to colors

by karomi (hyejoos)



Category: Aespa (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Fluff, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, i love winrina, implied usage of the d slur, mentions of teenage drug/alcohol use, minjeong is so dense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27805846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyejoos/pseuds/karomi
Summary: Minjeong can taste the lemon-lime dancing on her tongue, can see the sliver of light peeking through the closet doors, can feel the fuzzy coats on her right and the shoeboxes stacked on her left and the wall cold against her back.Or: Jimin and Minjeong, and their minds taking three years to figure out what their hearts realize in seven minutes.
Relationships: Kim Minjeong | Winter/Yoo Jimin | Karina
Comments: 40
Kudos: 145





	monochrome to colors

**Author's Note:**

> i made a  [ playlist ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5tHEPmmmYBdaO83YAdRTLl?si=47U6KbCbS2yHV2NwxwMXqw) and its not cohesive whatsoever bc its just a collection of songs i listened to while writing this but whatever :D also i couldnt put this in the playlist bc its not on spotify but shoutout to  [close by han](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Hynx73Vvjw) for motivating me to write 3k in a day
> 
> tw in tags but i’ll put it here too: mentions of teenage drug/alcohol use, implied usage of the d slur
> 
> title from winter’s iconic line in black mamba

Minjeong has a philosophy. A way of life, you might say. It’s the reason why her most used emoji is the sunglasses one, and why her default answer to the ages-old dipping vs. pouring tangsuyuk question is soaking; she does what she wants. Life is peppered with constraints and expectations, and it’s no fun if she adheres to them. So, in defiance of all the people who told her she wouldn’t be able to handle it, she’s the president of SM high school’s student government, co-captain of choir, maintains a 4.3 GPA, and still finds time to volunteer at the local animal shelter and attend Seventeen concerts.

It’s fair to say this philosophy has served her very well up until now. 

Emphasis on “up until now”, because staring back up at her in prim black 12pt Times New Roman in the first row of the Assigned Lab Partners sheet taped to the door of her chemistry classroom are the names “Kim Minjeong & Yoo Jimin”, and this is trouble like Minjeong’s never known.

♮

“Chemistry,” Yizhuo snickers, impervious to the irritated glare Minjeong throws her way.

She stabs the straw through her milk carton a little harder than necessary. “Stop laughing,” she says, voice cracking on the first syllable like it’s trying to get Yizhuo to do the exact opposite. “Respect your elders.” She’s a senior while Yizhuo’s a junior, not that Yizhuo’s cared about class hierarchy ever since they started sharing the position of choir captain.

“So you guys have chemistry,” Yizhuo repeats, tone lilting like she knows something Minjeong doesn’t. Minjeong doubts she does. “Did anything happen?”

She takes a loud sip from her milk carton, straw gargling obnoxiously in a last-ditch effort to irk Yizhuo. “Nope. The teacher just went over the syllabus and assigned our lab partners.”

It’s a lie, and a blatant one too. Jimin said hi to her. And smiled at her. (Minjeong did _not_ swoon — she just felt a little dizzy for a second). But it’s not like Yizhuo has to know that.

“Uh huh,” Yizhuo says, unconvinced. “She’s looking at you right now, by the way. I always felt like something was up between the two of you, ever since freshman year during that party.”

“I told you, nothing happened at that party.” Pause. “She’s looking at me? Where?”

“The vending machine. And I’m 100% sure something happened at that party that you’re not telling me, because after you two came out of the closet, no pun intended, both of you were—”

Minjeong turns toward the vending machine to find Jimin looking right at her, eyes widening slightly before she immediately redirects her gaze to the floor. Stoops to pick up her soda — Minjeong knows it’s Sprite even before she sees it, can taste the lemon-lime dancing on her tongue, can see the sliver of light peeking through the closet doors, can feel the fuzzy coats on her right and the shoeboxes stacked on her left and the wall cold against her back — and walks away.

“... and ever since then you guys have been really awkward around each other.”

Minjeong swallows and turns back to her lunch, hope and apprehension bubbling in her chest in equal measure. “To be honest, I hadn’t noticed.”

♮

On the first Friday of freshman year, Minjeong finds herself wading through grape-flavored clouds and seas of people holding red solo cups.

“Letting you tag along was a bad idea,” Minjeong mumbles to Yizhuo at her side, wrinkling her nose as a couple being excessively PDA stumbles past them. “You’re a baby. I feel like a chaperone on an elementary school field trip, except all the zoo animals have been released from their cages.”

“Hey, there’s Aeri!” Yizhuo ignores Minjeong completely, far too used to jabs about her age. She drags Minjeong over to where Aeri, a fellow exchange student they’ve known since middle school, is sitting in a circle of people. To Aeri’s right is SMHS’s resident “it girl”, dance team prodigy and ace of the basketball team Yoo Jimin, a can of Sprite held daintily in her hands.

On impulse, Minjeong squeezes into the circle next to Yizhuo, pretending to be engaged in her animated conversation with Aeri about which NCT title track is the best now that they’ve released a few new ones — it’s definitely Regular, not that Yizhuo will listen to her — while surreptitiously observing Jimin from across the circle. Her hair falls in a sheer black curtain over her shoulder, revealing a knife-sharp jawline when she tucks it behind her ear. A small smile plays on her lips as she listens to Aeri and Yizhuo debate if Kick It was overrated, eyes crinkling at Aeri’s offhanded comment that girl groups do noise music better than boy groups.

Minjeong sucks in a breath. She’s pretty.

“Jimin, what’s your take?” Aeri asks, not-so-discreetly elbowing her in the ribs. Minjeong belatedly realizes how long she’d been staring.

“Ow, stop it. The 7th Sense,” Jimin answers. Minjeong blinks in surprise. Her voice is deeper than she thought it would be.

Aeri looks impressed. “I didn’t expect you to know any of their songs. Jimin’s a misandrist,” she adds to Yizhuo and Minjeong.

Jimin rolls her eyes. “I know it because I learned the choreography before,” she answers, taking a sip of her Sprite. “It’s a good song. Hard to dance, though.”

_I wish I’d seen her perform it,_ Minjeong thinks, struck by the sudden realization that she’s only ever seen Jimin dancing in blurry videos posted on the SMHS dance team Instagram but never in person. She’ll have to change that.

“Hey princess, it’s your turn,” someone shouts, startling Jimin out of their conversation.

“Don’t call me that,” Jimin says sharply. “Skip my turn, I’m not playing.”

A chorus of boos follows her statement, and Minjeong looks over at the center of the circle to see an empty beer bottle. Oh.

“Royalty doesn’t wanna slum it with the commoners, huh?” some guy sneers. Jimin’s jaw tenses, but she holds back a response.

Minjeong’s never been the type to hold back. “She said not to call her that.”

He scoffs, giving her a disdainful glance. “You’re another one of her subjects, then.”

Minjeong’s just about to introduce her fist to his face when Jimin’s eyes flit to her, expression unreadable. She stops in her tracks, watching as Jimin reaches a hand out to the bottle. “It’s just seven minutes, right?”

The circle explodes into cheers, and Minjeong finally realizes just how many people clearly want to play seven minutes in heaven with Jimin, from sleazy overeager freshmen to hawk-eyed upperclassmen. Something constricts in Minjeong’s chest, overcome with the urge to protect Jimin from all of them, no matter how much she’d be overstepping.

“Just seven minutes,” the guy confirms, grinning cockily. Jimin nods and spins the bottle. Minjeong winces and turns away, her stomach sinking.

“Minjeong,” Yizhuo hisses suddenly. She looks up to see the bottle pointing at her.

_Fuck._

Minjeong barely manages to register the sorely disappointed looks of the crowd before Jimin’s leading her away, grip strong on her arm. Her shampoo smells like lavender.

“Wait, Jimin—” The double closet doors click shut, enveloping them in darkness.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jimin murmurs, voice low and earnest. “It’s up to you.”

Minjeong squeezes herself in between a pile of shoeboxes and a fluffy parka, heartbeat on overdrive at Jimin’s close proximity. “Did you know the bottle was going to land on me?”

“No,” Jimin answers, her voice a jolt of electricity into the crackling air, words blooming into the shared space between them. “But maybe I was hoping.”

♮

Seven minutes later, the two of them emerge from the closet amidst raucous cheering, red-faced and eyes wincing as they adjust to the light.

“Whad’ya do?” someone hollers drunkenly over the noise of the crowd. Jimin flushes, a hand instinctively running through her hair.

Minjeong swallows past the lump in her throat. “We just talked to each other, that’s all.”

♮

But maybe that’s not exactly what happened.

Maybe Minjeong admits she’s nervous, and Jimin takes her hand in hers to calm her nerves, unaware that it’s doing anything but.

Maybe Jimin asks her if it’s okay, and strokes her thumb along the back of her hand, and places her other hand on the back of Minjeong’s neck.

And maybe, just maybe, Minjeong says yes and leans in.

♮

That was three years ago. Minjeong repeats this to herself like a mantra while psyching herself up to do a lab with Jimin, to no avail. Presses two fingers to her left wrist, feels her pulse racing there. Giving herself away.

“I got our safety goggles,” Jimin says, and Minjeong bangs her knee into the underside of the table.

It actually goes well, despite the butterflies reenacting the Hunger Games in Minjeong’s stomach. The “well” in question being that Jimin’s fingers brush against Minjeong’s when they reach for the potassium iodate at the same time and Minjeong’s heart somersaults into her throat.

“Alright, last one,” Jimin says softly, tipping a few drops of silver nitrate into a salt solution. Trails of misty gray spiral out into the clear liquid like petals, engulfed in a cloudy sea of color. Jimin watches in quiet amazement, riveted by the swirls of silver bumping clumsily into the glass and sinking deeper.

Minjeong watches how the sunlight pouring through the window spills into her eyes, and thinks there’s a reaction happening there too.

“That’s so beautiful.” Jimin’s expression is alight with fascination, and some part of Minjeong’s heart that she locked away in that closet three years ago bursts into vivid color.

Minjeong reaches for her pen, placing a checkmark next to AgNO3 + NaCl in her lab notebook. “Yeah, it is.”

♮

They wrap up the lab in comfortable silence, double-checking each other’s work to make sure they followed the procedure correctly. They make a good team. Minjeong’s known for being a top student, but Jimin’s also really strong in academics, not that people ever acknowledge it. Indignance simmers under her skin whenever she thinks about it too hard, and then gives her pause, because it’s not her place to feel so strongly.

“I’m going to ask Ms. Seo how to dispose of this safely,” Jimin says, carrying a beaker over to the fume hood where the teacher is chatting with another student. Minjeong watches her leave; wrestles down the pointless urge to follow her.

“Isn’t it hard being her lab partner?” 

Minjeong snaps out of her trance. At the lab bench next to hers are two guys — Minjeong thinks they might be on the football team, despite willfully ignoring all things football-related — leaning forward, eyebrows cocked and awaiting Minjeong’s answer.

It immediately puts her on guard. “Not at all. Why would it be?”

The taller of the two shrugs. _Shrek 2.0,_ Minjeong mentally dubs him, given his startling resemblance. “She’s a total bitch.”

Shrek 3.0 adds, “plus, she’s a... y’know.” He doesn’t say it, but Minjeong sees the slur he mouths as clear as day.

Her vision blurs red, anger prickling white-hot under her skin. “Mind your fucking business. And maybe, instead of using homophobia to shield yourself from the reality that she’s not interested in you, try instead blaming it on the fact that you look and act like someone reanimated you out of dried cum from a frat house’s bathroom floor.”

They go deathly pale, and Minjeong’s about to give them another piece of her mind when a shoulder playfully bumps into hers, hand finding hers behind the lab bench and tangling their fingers together. She shuts up faster than she’s ever shut up in her life.

“Ms. Seo said we’re good to go,” Jimin says, a slight smirk pulling at her lips. At the corner of Minjeong’s vision, the two guys slink away, tails tucked between their legs.

Jimin’s hands are just as soft as she remembers.

“Oh, uh—” thinking is proving incredibly difficult right now — “that’s great! Um, I’m sorry.”

Jimin’s eyes glimmer with amusement. “Give me your phone.”

Minjeong fishes her phone out of her pocket without a second thought, unlocking it and handing it to Jimin. She immediately regrets it when she remembers that her camera roll is full of Jimin’s selfies that she’d screenshotted from her Instagram. “Wait, uh, why?”

Jimin hands back her phone, and Minjeong breathes a sigh of relief when she sees that her contacts app is open and not her camera roll. And then nearly chokes when she sees that Jimin’s saved her contact name as “jimin 🥰”.

“My number, in case you need to text me. For the lab,” Jimin clarifies, which gives Minjeong the distinct impression that this is not just for the lab. “And you don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

♮

_6:11pm_

**jimin 🥰** : aeri and i are going to karaoke, do you want to join?

**jimin 🥰** : yizhuo can come too

_6:12pm_

**gyeoulie ❄️** : JIMIN TEXTED ME ASKING IF I WANT TO GO TO KARAOKE W HER AND AERI WHAT THE FUCK DO I SAY

**gyeoulie ❄️** : oh and ur also invited

**ningie 🦋** : since when has jimin had your number

**ningie 🦋** : you have a lot of explaining to do

**ningie 🦋** : also say yes you idiot, what kind of question

_6:14pm_

**minjeong 😎** : see u there 😎

_6:15pm_

**gyeoulie ❄️** : i said yes and also sent the sunglasses emoji

**ningie 🦋** : you’re a disaster

♮

Jimin is singing when Minjeong arrives.

The moment Minjeong hears her voice, it hits her like she’s been splashed by a bucket of ice water. “You go in without me,” she hisses to Yizhuo, shoving her forward and plastering herself to the wall like she’s in a spy movie.

Yizhuo’s eyebrows furrow in confusion before she realizes Minjeong’s up to her panicked gay antics again. She shakes her head in exasperation. “Seriously, you’re hopeless.”

Minjeong shrugs — it’s not like she can deny it — and eavesdrops outside the door while Yizhuo successfully lies to Jimin and Aeri by telling them that she’s in the bathroom. She and Aeri launch into a conversation about Blackpink’s newest album, the karaoke instrumental drowning them out. Jimin’s singing an IU song that Minjeong can’t remember the name of, her voice leaching through the walls and filling up the air with a surprising richness, an insistent force that Minjeong hadn’t expected from her softer speaking voice. Captivating; electrifying.

It steals the air right out of her lungs, leaves her desperate for more.

Minjeong’s so absorbed in her performance that it catches her off guard when the song ends, forcing her to work up the nerve to actually talk to Jimin. She exhales, recollects herself, fixes her hair using her phone camera for the millionth time, and steps into the karaoke room.

Jimin’s face brightens upon seeing her, patting the spot on the couch next to her. Yizhuo pauses in the middle of her and Aeri’s rendition of Bet You Wanna to throw Minjeong an unimpressed look. Aeri is spitting Cardi B’s verse word for word. Seems about right.

Minjeong sits next to Jimin on the couch, looking everywhere but at her. The potted plant next to the door, the spinning disco strobe lights, Aeri and Yizhuo having the time of their lives. “You have a beautiful voice,” she finally says, Converse tapping on the ground anxiously.

Jimin’s eyes curve into half-moons. “You were listening?”

Minjeong coughs, heat rising to her cheeks.

Jimin’s smile grows wider. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.” At Minjeong’s questioning glance, she explains, “I saw your solo at last year’s choir performance.”

“Oh.” Minjeong wishes she’d gone to the dance team showcase for the umpteenth time. “I— thank you.”

She can’t think of anything to say after that, so they lapse into silence, watching as Aeri and Yizhuo harmonize to the bridge of Bet You Wanna. Jimin’s fiddling with the sleeve of her jacket, biting her lip like she’s deep in thought.

“Something ‘bout me’s taking you higher,” Yizhuo sings, at the same time Jimin says, “I wanted to thank you for earlier.”

Minjeong’s stomach flips over like an egg in a frying pan. “Did you hear all of... what I said?”

Jimin shrugs, smile tugging at her lips. “Parts of it.” When it seems like that’s all she’s going to say, she adds, “like the reanimated cum thing.”

“Oh god.” Minjeong stares directly up into the shimmering disco ball on the ceiling, praying that it’ll blind her and she’ll have to go to the hospital, just so she can avoid this conversation. “Please forget I said any of that. I’m really sorry if I crossed a line.”

Jimin shakes her head. “You didn’t. Not at all.” Her expression is strangely vulnerable, and Minjeong wonders just how much of it she was masking three years ago, pinned under the weight of everyone’s gaze on her, preying and cruel. “I... Most people wouldn’t fight for me. Thank you.”

_Most people don’t feel about you the way I do._ “You don’t have to thank me at all. Those guys were douchebags and didn’t know shit about anything they were saying.”

Jimin turns her head slightly, breaking eye contact Minjeong hadn’t realized they’d been holding. “They weren’t totally wrong, though.” Looks her in the eye again. “Although you probably already knew that.”

_What the fuck— is she talking about the k—_

“Hey, these two are really preoccupied with their NCT cover,” Jimin chuckles, jerking her chin towards Yizhuo and Aeri shouting the lyrics to Make a Wish. “Aeri should be a SoundCloud rapper. I’m impressed.”

Okay, now that Minjeong’s taken approximately fifteen seconds to process it: Jimin is most definitely gay, and she was most definitely talking about their kiss.

_Well._

All the ways they could’ve ended up here sooner run through Minjeong’s mind — if she’d had the courage to talk to Jimin after their seven minutes were over, if she’d had the courage to watch the basketball team practice in the gym after school, if she’d had the courage to get first-row tickets to the dance showcase. If she’d had the courage she seems to have in every single aspect of her life, except when it comes to Yoo Jimin and suddenly she’s struggling to find the courage she’s never struggled to find before.

“Put your hands together, make a wish,” Aeri growls into the mic.

(She thinks she has the courage now.)

Minjeong sucks in a deep breath. “You wanna ditch them and head to the arcade next door? I don’t think they’d notice.”

Jimin’s smile is radiant, dappled with purple and green lights, and it’s the most beautiful thing Minjeong has ever seen. “Let’s go.”

♮

_6:49pm_

**ningie 🦋** : i saw you guys leave together

**ningie 🦋** : you aren’t slick

**gyeoulie ❄️** : shut up

♮

“Seriously, how are you so good at this?” Minjeong asks incredulously after Jimin’s soundly destroyed her at Skee-Ball for the fifth time.

Jimin hums, tucking the roll of tickets she’s won into her pocket. “A magician never reveals her secrets.”

“Not even if I buy you a milkshake?” Minjeong asks, because she’s starting to get the hang of this courage thing.

Jimin shakes her head. “Milkshakes are a great idea, but I’m buying for you.”

They argue over who’s buying for the next five minutes until the tired teenage employee at the snack bar asks them to leave their lovers’ quarrel for another time, at which point they immediately shut up, blushing furiously. Minjeong pays at lightning speed while Jimin is too flustered to react, smiling triumphantly as she complains that Minjeong’s being unfair.

“I’ll pay next time,” Jimin declares, and Minjeong’s too tongue-tied at the idea of a next time to respond.

They let the conversation lead them — from the upcoming chemistry test to favorite TV tropes to potential colleges (they both want to major in STEM, so they’re interested in a lot of the same schools) — until Blueming starts playing over the arcade speakers and Jimin visibly lights up.

“You’re an Uaena?” Minjeong asks, hoping to impress with her bare minimum IU knowledge. It seems to be working, judging by the way Jimin nods vigorously and her eyes shine like all the universe’s stars decided to gather in one spot.

“IU’s one of my favorite singers,” Jimin says. “I have 200 pictures of her on my phone.”

_Damn, that’s dedication,_ Minjeong thinks. “You were singing one of her songs earlier, right? It sounded familiar, but I can’t remember the name.”

Jimin smiles brilliantly. “The song’s name is ‘unlucky’. It’s a bside on Love Poem.”

“I’ll add it to my playlist,” Minjeong promises. “Your cover was amazing, it made me really want to get into IU’s discography.”

“You won’t regret it, she’s incredible. She doesn’t have a single bad song.” Jimin takes a sip of her milkshake, licking a stray drop at the corner of her lips. Minjeong’s heartbeat revs like a motorcycle engine. “What type of music do you normally listen to?”

Right on cue, playful piano comes over the speakers, accompanied by bold brass and a trademark “Seventeen right here!”. Minjeong blinks in surprise, a startled laugh escaping from her chest as she turns to find the source of the music. Jimin notices her reaction. “You like Seventeen?”

“Yeah, they’re my favorite group,” Minjeong chuckles. “Hell of a coincidence.”

No sooner than the words have left her mouth does she realize just why that phrase sounds so familiar, brings her back to the memories she buried in that stuffy closet underneath the puffy jackets, the unworn shoes, the winding scarves.

Meets Jimin’s eyes, and knows she’s remembering it too.

“It’s starting to look more like fate at this point, isn’t it?” Jimin asks, tone lighthearted, but there’s something about the look in her eyes that makes Minjeong think this isn’t lighthearted at all. It’s deadly serious. Reminds her of the venomous snakes she used to see in nature documentaries as a kid, poised and still, but lightning fast to bite.

_I can’t stop the feeling,_ Joshua belts over the speakers.

“Definitely,” Minjeong breathes, and lets the feeling bloom.

♮

The frigid night air nips at their cheeks as they leave the arcade and make their way to the nearest bus stop. Minjeong inhales deeply, lets the icy air pierce her lungs, but it does nothing to stop the heat prickling along her skin where her shoulder is pressed against Jimin’s.

The overhead streetlights cast a halo around Jimin’s head, golden rays cascading over the bridge of her nose and framing the curve of her jaw. Her breath comes out in foggy puffs, head tilted back to observe the starry skyline. Minjeong shivers unconsciously, transfixed by the caramel glimmer of her eyes.

“Are you cold?” Jimin asks abruptly, taking off her jacket. “You should dress warmer, it’s starting to get really cold at night.”

“No, it’s okay—” Minjeong starts to protest, but Jimin’s already draping her jacket over her shoulders. She belatedly realizes just how tall Jimin is — the jacket’s slightly oversized on her, but on Minjeong it reaches down to her mid-thigh and the sleeves completely engulf her hands.

Jimin smiles. “Cute.”

_Cute— holy fuck._ Heat floods her cheeks, and she instinctively buries her nose in the jacket collar to hide her blush.

“Aren’t you cold?” The jacket smells like lavender. She wants to keep it forever.

“Not at all,” Jimin answers, clearly lying through her teeth. Minjeong’s heart melts.

“C’mere,” she mumbles, pulling Jimin closer and wrapping the edges of the jacket around her. It’s stiff and awkward for a moment, but then their bodies figure it out, Minjeong’s nose tucked into the crook of Jimin’s neck and Jimin’s arms looping around her waist.

“If you wanted to hug me, you could’ve just said so.” Minjeong can’t see Jimin’s face, but she can hear the smile in her voice. 

Two can play at that game. “I just didn’t want you to freeze to death, but if you’re sure—” she pretends to extract herself from Jimin’s grasp, but Jimin tightens her grip around Minjeong’s midriff, pulling her flush against her front. Heat leaps to Minjeong’s cheeks.

“I wasn’t cold, but I like it better this way.” The rumble of Jimin’s voice seeps into her skin. Minjeong desperately hopes she can’t hear the traitorous, desperate thump of her heartbeat. Her body feels like it’s burning up, feverish and all-consuming.

(Jimin falls asleep on her shoulder during the bus ride. Minjeong doesn’t move a muscle the whole way home.)

♮

_10:27pm_

**minjeong 😎** :

**jimin 🥰** : what a coincidence

**jimin 🥰** :

**minjeong 😎** : seems more like fate to me

**jimin 🥰** : 💕

♮

“You know, you kind of look like him,” Jimin says as Olaf prances around the screen, singing with all the innocence in the world about the wonders of summer.

It’s golden hour on a November afternoon, veins of buttery light streaming through the windowblinds and dappling the walls of Jimin’s room. Minjeong’s supposedly there to finish up a lab they hadn’t had time to complete in class, but that pretense had quickly fallen away when Minjeong stumbled upon a stack of Disney movies tucked behind Jimin’s collection of IU albums and Jimin sheepishly admitted to Frozen being her favorite movie.

Now they’re cocooned in fuzzy blankets on Jimin’s bed, her cat purring in Minjeong’s lap, marathoning Disney movies because Minjeong didn’t have the heart to tell Jimin she’s into violent action movies like American Sniper. It’s alright, though, because she spends the entire time pretending to watch the movie while sneaking glances at Jimin instead.

Minjeong gasps theatrically at Jimin’s comment, hand over her heart in mock offense. “How dare you?”

Jimin grins. “It’s the sunglasses.” She gestures to the screen, where Olaf’s splayed out on the beach with his shades.

Minjeong pouts. “You’re saying I look like a snowman?”

Jimin shrugs with a cheeky smile. “Your words, not mine.”

“Y’know, that reminds me,” Minjeong strokes Jimin’s cat behind his ears, “one of Yizhuo’s nicknames for me is Winter because she said I looked cold at first, and ever since she told me that I’ve been trying to fix my RBF.”

“I don’t think you have a resting bitch face. Actually, my first impression of you was that you’re really short.” At Minjeong’s eye roll, she adds, “another thing in common with Olaf.”

“Tall people.” Minjeong shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose in disapproval. “You’re mighty brave for someone whose kneecaps are within striking distance.”

“I swear, you wake up every day and choose violence,” Jimin laughs, nose scrunching cutely. “When those two guys on the football team called me a slur, I actually thought you were going to break their noses.”

Minjeong exhales. The line, tangible and dangerous as a live wire. “I would’ve if you hadn’t shown up,” she admits, avoiding eye contact. “Even though they probably would’ve beaten the shit out of me. Yizhuo says I have to pick my battles, but...” she makes an ambiguous noise, shrugging her shoulders.

“I don’t want you to do it if it’s dangerous, but I like that you stand up for me. It makes me feel...” Jimin bites her lip. “Protected.”

_Oh_ _,_ she thinks, the realization finally sinking in; Jimin _liked_ that she fought for her, would even want her to do it again. “You’re welcome,” she mumbles, turning away so Jimin can’t see the raging blush on her cheeks.

“You and Yizhuo lead choir, right?” Jimin asks, out of the blue.

Minjeong nods. “It’s a big responsibility, but working with her makes it much less exhausting. She’s like a little sister to me,” she finishes, missing the way Jimin’s expression relaxes imperceptibly. “Why?”

“Just curious.” Minjeong narrows her eyes, but decides to drop it. Jimin jerks her chin towards the screen. “Which character do you think I resemble?”

“Well, you obviously want me to say Elsa,” Minjeong says immediately, laughing when Jimin blushes and looks away, confirming her answer.

“Hey, just because I’m a lesbian—” Jimin starts, smiling good-naturedly.

“Why Elsa? Aside from, y’know.” Minjeong does the limp wristed hand move, elation bubbling up in her chest when Jimin bursts into laughter.

“You’re such a dork,” she laughs, shoving playfully at Minjeong’s shoulder. “I mean, there’s that, but there’s also her personality, right?”

“Is this your way of telling me you secretly have ice powers?” Minjeong grabs Jimin’s hand, pushing back her sleeves to squint at her palm. Presses her fingers to her wrist, feels the pulse thrumming there, singing and warm and alive.

“No, dummy,” Jimin says fondly, shifting her hand so she can intertwine their fingers. “I meant how she’s misunderstood and bottles up her emotions even though it hurts her.”

Minjeong frowns. Jimin looks unbothered, but Minjeong knows she’s a master of hiding her true feelings. “Are you hurt? By the rumors?”

“It used to hurt a lot worse,” Jimin admits, running her thumb along the back of Minjeong’s hand. The gesture is familiar, but Minjeong can’t recall why. “But now I’m starting to care less. Because I have a feisty little bodyguard who’s willing to punch anyone who talks bad about me.”

Minjeong’s lips pull into a smirk. “I wonder who that is?”

“No idea,” Jimin agrees, eyes crinkling into a smile. Her cat rubs its cheek against Minjeong’s arm. “Hey, he really likes you.”

“Is he usually friendly?” Minjeong asks, running her free hand through his fur. He purrs, eyes closing in contentment.

“Not really. Normally he doesn’t like strangers, but I think he can tell whether someone’s a stranger to me. He’s always affectionate to people I like, even if he’s meeting them for the first time.”

“So you’re saying you like me?” Minjeong asks, grinning.

To her delight, Jimin blushes, rosy pink dusting her cheeks. “I— doesn’t that go without saying?”

Minjeong hums, snuggling closer into Jimin’s side. “Yeah, but I like hearing it from you anyway.”

They watch the movie in comfortable silence, Minjeong’s head resting on Jimin’s shoulder. She still smells like lavender, reminding Minjeong of the jacket that she “forgot” to give back after that night at the arcade. Maybe if she plays her cards right she’ll get to steal another one.

“So I have a basketball game this Saturday,” Jimin starts suddenly, running a nervous hand through her hair. “If you’re free, I mean you don’t have to, but—”

Minjeong squeezes her hand and Jimin goes quiet. “Of course I will. What kind of bodyguard would I be if I didn’t show up?”

Jimin squeezes her hand back. A silent message passed back and forth between them. The shadowy memory nagging at the back of Minjeong’s mind finally makes itself known: brings her back to the start of it all, Jimin’s hand in hers, breath brushing against her lips, the bassline of the music outside pulsing like a heartbeat.

The sun is setting. Molten honey drips from the clouds and swirls into royal blue, a masterpiece of color. Strands of amber drift through the window blinds, turning the warm mocha of Jimin’s eyes to fiery gold.

(Somewhere, on the other side of the planet, the sun rises. And maybe it does in Minjeong’s heart, too.)

♮

“You waited for me,” Jimin says when she emerges from the locker room after the game. Her hair is still slightly wet from the showers, a droplet trailing down the curve of her jaw. She’s changed out of her jersey and into an oversized sweatshirt, the tips of her fingers poking out behind the sleeves, a basketball tucked under her arm. _Cute._

“Of course I did,” Minjeong says. A strand of Jimin’s hair is stuck to her cheek. Minjeong reaches out and tucks it behind her ear. “Congrats on your win, you were amazing. When were you gonna tell me you’re secretly Steph Curry in disguise?”

“You’re exaggerating,” Jimin says. Her ears are tinged pink.

“No I’m not, you were literally a machine out there. Didn’t you get a — what did the announcer call it, that burger on the In-N-Out menu—”

“A double-double,” she supplies, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Yeah, that!” Minjeong snaps her fingers. “Which, in layman’s terms, means you crushed it.”

Jimin chuckles, smiling fondly. “C’mon, you haven’t seen anything yet.” She pushes open the gymnasium doors, flicking on the lights and gesturing for Minjeong to follow her.

“Wait, are we allowed to be here?” Minjeong stares in amazement at the empty bleachers. It feels so much grander like this with just the two of them, instead of the entire school packed in like sardines. All-encompassing; their own little bubble, ever-so slowly drifting higher and higher, the rest of the world trickling away.

“Yeah, we’re fine. I stay late here all the time.” She bends her knees, takes a shot. “I like to practice when I’ve got something on my mind.” The ball swishes through the hoop, but she’s looking at Minjeong, not the basket.

Minjeong swallows, butterflies swirling in her stomach. “Do you have something on your mind?”

Jimin smiles, shakes her head. “Just you.”

Minjeong’s heart lurches against her ribs, almost violent with the way it begins to throb like a bird trapped in a cage. Wings fluttering, begging to be set free.

She doesn’t even realize Jimin’s pressed the basketball into her hands until she says “try taking a shot.” She takes a deep breath, recollects herself. Thinks back to the game, and raises the ball in a clumsy imitation of the shot form Jimin moved into so fluidly and effortlessly. “Like this?”

“Move your elbow higher,” Jimin advises, moving behind Minjeong so she can adjust the position of her arms. Her fingers burn trails of liquid fire on Minjeong’s skin as she fixes the angle of her elbow. The weight of her body is warm against Minjeong’s back, the glaring lights casting a halo over their heads.

Minjeong’s skin tingles, pins and needles under Jimin’s touch. Heart pounding furiously against her ribcage. “If you wanted to hug me, you could’ve just said so.”

Jimin laughs, loud and bright. “You’ve been waiting to use that one, haven’t you?”

Minjeong’s lips curl into a grin. “Maybe.”

“That reminds me,” Jimin says, “you’re wearing my jacket.”

“Huh?” Minjeong blinks. “Oh, yeah. Do you want me to give it back?”

Jimin shakes her head, her hair tickling the back of Minjeong’s neck. “No, it’s fine. I was thinking of stealing one of yours, actually.”

“I’ll bring one of mine and we can swap,” she suggests. Thinks of Jimin wearing her clothes, tries to stop the blush that automatically rises to her face.

“I’d like that.” Jimin’s thumb strokes absentmindedly over the fabric covering Minjeong’s stomach. “You still haven’t taken the shot.”

_I can’t focus with you doing that,_ Minjeong wants to say. “I’m definitely going to miss, though.”

“No, you aren’t. I’ll make sure you don’t.” She moves her hands back over Minjeong’s. Shifts Minjeong’s left hand higher, splays out the fingers on her right hand. Steadies the ball and shoots.

The ball sinks through the net, not even a hint of grazing the rim. Jimin’s hand is still holding hers. The bubble shimmers; continues floating skyward. “Perfect.”

♮

“Screw redox reactions,” Minjeong declares, startling Jimin out of her studious note-taking and Yizhuo and Aeri out of their hushed discussion about Blackpink’s best bsides. She sets her chemistry textbook down with a resounding thump that draws irritated glares from the librarian and some nearby tables. She makes a vaguely apologetic expression and hopes they’ll take it. “Do you wanna go to the choir room so I can complain about this chemistry test in peace?”

Jimin shrugs, placing her pencil down. “Sounds good, I think I’m prepared enough anyway.”

“That makes one of us,” Minjeong jokes. “Aeri, Yizhuo?”

“Sorry, we’re in the middle of a Blackpink song sorter,” Aeri says, showing her phone screen, which reads ‘See U Later vs. Crazy Over You’. “Buy me chips from the vending machine?”

“Sure thing. Yizhuo, you want anything?”

“No, I’m good. Also, since you were definitely gonna forget—” Yizhuo rummages around in her backpack, pulls out a lanyard with a stack of keys on the end. “I locked the choir room earlier.”

Minjeong takes the keys gratefully. “You’re the best.”

The hallways are sparse in the afternoons, with only a few stragglers from various athletic and academic clubs. When Minjeong unlocks the choir room, there’s a piece of sheet music strewn haphazardly on the floor, chairs stacked neatly against the walls. Jimin makes a beeline for the piano sitting in the corner, propping open the cover and pressing out a few tentative chords.

“I didn’t know you could play,” Minjeong says, watching as Jimin’s fingers flit over the keyboard. F minor seventh, C minor seventh, D flat major.

“I used to take lessons,” Jimin says, scooting over so Minjeong can sit on the bench next to her. “Had to drop it when dance and basketball got more serious.”

Her expression is wistful, and it tugs at something in Minjeong’s chest. “Play something for me.”

“You’re so demanding,” Jimin says, but she’s already launched into a song, wistful expression replaced by a cheeky smile. Minor thirds, flowing into a D major arpeggio.

It’s achingly familiar. “What song is this?”

“Merry-Go-Round of Life,” Jimin answers, the piece transitioning to bouncy staccato. “From Howl’s Moving Castle. It’s a Studio Ghibli film.”

Minjeong doesn’t recognize the title of the song or movie, but for some reason she feels like she’s heard it before. “It’s pretty.”

Jimin hums in affirmation, fingers gliding across the ivories. Her brow furrows as she concentrates, music springing to life, vibrant and colorful. Soft one moment, twinkling like wind chimes on a cool spring afternoon, and powerful the next, rumbling angrily like thunderstorms staking their claim in the sky. It’s beautiful.

( _She’s beautiful,_ Minjeong corrects herself.)

The music climbs to a crescendo, a passionate explosion of sound that overwhelms Minjeong. Shakes her to her core, evokes a feeling she can’t name, but knows she’s felt before. And finally, a gentle chord; the ray of sunlight after the storm. Jimin holds the note, lets it ring out in the room, accompanied only by the sound of their hushed breaths.

Minjeong bursts into enthusiastic applause. “You’re incredible,” she breathes, starstruck. “That was— how did you do that?”

“It’s nothing,” Jimin says, running a hand through her hair. Cheeks dusted a faint pink.

“Are you kidding? It’s _everything,_ ” Minjeong laughs, full of wonder. “That was so cool. You have to teach me how to play that sometime.”

“Do you even know how to play the piano?” Jimin asks, eyebrow quirked in amusement.

“Nope,” Minjeong says, popping the p. “But I’m willing to learn, if you’re teaching me.”

Jimin’s smile is blinding. “I’ll teach you, but what’ll you do in return for me?”

“Anything,” Minjeong shrugs. Hopes she can’t tell just how close to the truth it is. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want to hear you sing,” Jimin says. “Because you never got to at karaoke.”

“Um...” Minjeong buffers as she tries to think of a song, blurting out the first lyrics that come to mind — IU’s dlwlrma. “This is a secret that I haven’t told anyone before...” her voice trails off in embarrassment at Jimin’s knowing grin.

“Nice song choice,” she laughs, eyes crinkling into half-crescents. “You know, I’m starting to think you’re trying to impress me.”

“Shut up, I couldn’t think of anything else and I’ve been listening to this song a lot recently.” Minjeong says, blushing. Starts where she’d stopped: “When I tell you this story, you’ll ask with big eyes, how, wow, wow...”

As she sings, Jimin joins in with the piano accompaniment. Minjeong watches in awe as Jimin’s fingers dance over the keys, effortlessly shifting from delicate to forceful, complimenting her voice perfectly. They combine into one stream of sound, one harmonious melody, filling the gaps in each other’s music like two puzzle pieces clicking together. 

“I know for sure today’s fireworks won’t end,” Minjeong sings, dragging out the last note just like IU does. Jimin launches into the whimsical instrumental break, giving Minjeong a much-needed chance to catch a breather.

“That reminds me,” Minjeong says suddenly, thinking back to the song’s lyrics, “I really wanna watch the fireworks with you.”

“Lee Chaeyoung’s hosting a party at her uncle’s mansion tomorrow for New Year’s,” Jimin responds. It’s not phrased like a question, but Minjeong knows it is.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Minjeong murmurs, and knows from the upturned corners of Jimin’s lips that she’s heard her. She finishes the last few notes with a flourish. Then, together, they sing the words they know by heart: “What’s more amazing, is that it’s starting from now on...”

♮

On their way back to the library, they stop at a vending machine to buy Aeri’s promised chips. Jimin’s punching numbers in the keypad for a Sprite — “I’m supposed to be eating healthy because I have a game coming up, but I really like carbonated drinks,” she says sheepishly — when two guys come up to them, sleazy smirks on their faces.

_Ah shit, here we go again._ Minjeong suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. They’re not on the football team this time, but one of them looks unnervingly familiar, automatically putting Minjeong on guard.

“Let me get that for you,” he says, shoving Jimin’s hand out of the way to grab the Sprite can for her. He hands it to her on his knees like he’s proposing — Minjeong almost laughs at the ridiculous gesture, but wariness prickles at her stomach, telling her to be careful of this guy. She’s seen him somewhere before, she’s sure.

“What’s your name?” His shorter friend says to Minjeong, brushing his hair out of his eyes in a way he probably thinks is attractive but just makes him look like an idiot.

She debates telling him to fuck off, but catches a glimpse of Jimin’s impassive expression and decides not to. Despite the uneasiness nagging at her, it’s not like they’ve done anything bad yet. “Minjeong.”

“Sounds familiar, but I’m sure I would’ve memorized your name if I’d seen you before.” His gaze drags up and down her body. Minjeong’s hands itch to sock him in the face.

“I’m the student council president,” she says dryly, irritation lacing her voice. “I’ve given a speech at every single schoolwide assembly.”

“Ooh, a woman in charge,” the taller guy drawls, grinning cockily. “And Yoo Jimin, the dance team captain, the queen of the school.” He leans an arm against the vending machine, blatantly checking Jimin out, eyes lingering on the low cut of her shirt collar. Minjeong’s stomach roils. “Who knew pretty girls could be so smart, huh?”

“Because they’re not mutually exclusive,” Jimin says evenly. Jaw tensing just the slightest bit.

“How about you and I get mutually exclusive?” He winks, and Minjeong resists the urge to gag. At the thinly veiled disgust on Jimin’s face, he adds, “or we could go on double dates. Us two and you two, how’s that sound?” He jerks his chin towards Minjeong and his friend.

It gives Minjeong an awful, brilliant idea. “Actually, our dates have been going just fine. Right, babe?” She wraps an arm around Jimin’s waist, feels her body jolt. Jimin turns to look at her, the briefest flash of surprise on her face.

Minjeong’s hand finds Jimin’s and squeezes. _Trust me._

Jimin squeezes her hand back, then turns to face the two guys. “Yeah, my girlfriend and I will have to pass.” Minjeong inhales sharply. _Girlfriend._

“Oh shit, you guys are lesbos?” The taller guy laughs, lips pulling up into a sneer. “I should’ve known — you two made out, right? At that party freshman year?”

Minjeong’s stomach drops, cold dread trickling down the back of her neck. _That’s_ why he looks so familiar — he’s the same guy who pressured Jimin to play seven minutes in heaven all those years ago.

“Man, this is priceless,” he wheezes. “I guess that game actually works, huh? Damn, I wanted that bottle to land on me so bad.” He leers at Jimin, eyebrows waggling. Minjeong’s grip tightens on Jimin’s waist.

“Or they could be lying,” his shorter friend muses, eyes predatory like a hawk’s. “Girls always say that shit when it’s not true. Prove it.”

Minjeong bristles. “How the fuck are we supposed to prove it—”

“Kiss.” The word turns Minjeong’s blood to ice. “Kiss right now, if you’re really dating. Shouldn’t be too hard for you.”

Minjeong turns to look at Jimin, knows from her expression that she’s remembering it too. They haven’t spoken about the kiss for three years and this is where it catches up to them, in a school hallway with some perverts ogling them, where anybody could walk around the corner and see them, transform them into the next piece of hot gossip for drama-hungry people to tear into.

And this is where it catches up to Minjeong too: the kiss that she’s tried not to think about for three years, coming back with a vengeance to tell her what some part of her has known this whole time. The stark realization that she wants to kiss Jimin again, but not like this, paraded in front of strangers like some sort of spectacle, a performance, an act. She wants to kiss Jimin in the frigid cold under neon streetlights, or swaddled in blankets on Jimin’s bed watching Disney movies, or in the choir room playing songs for each other. Anything but this.

Jimin’s gaze is hypnotizing, eyes dark with intent. Minjeong’s tongue darts out to wet her lips nervously, and Jimin’s eyes lower to follow the movement — _god, are we really gonna do it now, here—_

Then Jimin looks away, breaking the spell. “No,” she says, voice stony and unwavering as she faces their spectators. “We’re not gonna put on a show for you. We’re human beings, not objects you can watch for entertainment. Fuck off.”

She leaves stunned silence in her wake. Minjeong releases a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Thinks back to Jimin reaching a hand out to the bottle — _it’s just seven minutes, right?_ — and doesn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. Not the defiant, self-assured tilt of Jimin’s chin, gaze resolute as she looks them in the eye. Judging by the dumbfounded looks on the guys’ faces, they hadn’t been expecting it either.

She doesn’t realize Jimin’s whisked her away around the corner and into an empty classroom until she’s shut the door behind them. “I’m really sorry about that, I’m so sorry, are you okay,” she breathes, rapid-fire, “it wasn’t — I just didn’t want to give them the satisfaction, I didn’t know if they’d leave—”

“Wait, no, you don’t have to apologize for anything, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have told them we were,” and she has to swallow here, “dating. I thought they’d give up after that.” 

“No, it’s fine, I get why you said that. It’s not your fault they couldn’t take no for an answer,” Jimin says, brow pinched with worry. The kiss, hanging between them, the trumpeting elephant in the room. “About the thing he said—”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Minjeong says quickly, panic unintentionally slipping into her voice.

Jimin pauses, then slowly nods. “Alright. Are you— are we okay?”

The imploring look on Jimin’s face tugs at something deep in Minjeong’s chest. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

“Okay.” Jimin bites her lip like she’s internally debating something, then sets her jaw and nods slightly. She leans forward and presses a feather-light kiss to Minjeong’s forehead. 

Minjeong’s mind _reels._

The kiss hits her like a lightning bolt, surges through her veins and jumpstarts her heart, and this is trouble like Minjeong’s never known.

♮

When Minjeong stares up at her ceiling that night, all she can see is scenes being played back like a movie reel. Jimin’s hand holding hers, Jimin’s eyes on her lips, Jimin pressing a kiss to her forehead. She tosses and turns until she gives up, finally succumbing to the dawning understanding that these memories won’t leave her alone. Not until she confronts the ones she’s been running away from this entire time.

She closes her eyes, and for the first time in three years, lets herself remember it.

♮

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jimin says as soon as the closet doors swing shut behind them. “It’s up to you.”

Minjeong struggles to orient herself in the cramped space, heart pattering like raindrops against a window. “Did you know the bottle was going to land on me?”

“No.” Minjeong can’t see Jimin’s face that well, with only the barest amount of light making its way into the closet, but something tells her that Jimin’s smirking. “But maybe I was hoping.”

Minjeong swallows. “Hell of a coincidence,” she manages. Thank god it’s too dark for Jimin to see how hard she’s blushing. “I’m kind of nervous, if you couldn’t tell.”

“Don’t be.” Jimin’s hand grasps hers, sending a shockwave down her skin, her brain short-circuiting. Her breath feels like it’s been stolen right out of her lungs, adrenaline pumping through her veins and making her lightheaded. “We can just wait out the rest of the time. It’s up to you.”

_That’s the second time she’s said that,_ Minjeong thinks hazily, and blurts “maybe I don’t want to wait.”

Jimin’s thumb strokes down the back of Minjeong’s hand, raising goosebumps along her flesh. “Are you sure?”

_She’s so close._ Breath brushing against her lips, millimeters away. Hand searing hot on the back of her neck. It makes her want to lean forward, close that distance. “Yeah.”

Jimin tastes like lemon-lime. Minjeong has to stand on her tiptoes to kiss her, losing herself in the push and pull of it, like tides advancing and receding on the shoreline. Jimin’s hand has migrated from her neck to her hair, fingers tangling in it and tugging, bringing her impossibly closer. Minjeong doesn’t even realize that the whine she hears is her own until Jimin’s pulled away, panting.

“You okay?” She sounds almost — embarrassed? _As if we didn’t just— god, she’s adorable—_

Minjeong nods impatiently. “Yeah, I’m fine.” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she’s eagerly pulling Jimin in again, arms looped around her neck. Distantly, she registers that she’s been backed against the wall, mind foggy and consumed by the feeling of Jimin’s lips against hers, both impossibly soft and fiery insistent. They kiss until they lose track of time, a tiny voice in the back of Minjeong’s head admitting _I don’t want this to end—_

“Seven minutes are up!” someone shouts from outside, and Minjeong reluctantly pulls away.

Jimin’s biting her lips — her kiss-swollen lips, Minjeong’s oxygen-deprived brain supplies — like she’s debating something. Nods like she’s made her decision, then presses a kiss to Minjeong’s forehead.

Minjeong’s stomach jolts like the floor’s been stolen from right under her feet, sending her into soaring freefall. Blood pounds in her ears, her heartbeat fluttering in her chest like a hummingbird’s wings, and she doesn’t have a name for this feeling but she knows she wants to feel it again.

(She doesn’t know it, but it’s then that her heart realizes it for the first time — what it’s been trying to tell her for three years, what it’s been longing for.)

♮

“Are you going to tell me why you snuck into my room at 2AM?”

The stars glitter, unwavering. From Yizhuo’s window, Minjeong can see the tree she climbed to get in, cars lined down the street, murky clouds inching across the sky. In the reflection, she can see Yizhuo’s concerned expression. She inhales.

“I lied.” It escapes from her like a wild animal held captive; a breath she’s been holding for three years. “When Jimin and I went into the closet, we kissed.”

Yizhuo nods. “Yeah, I figured. It was pretty obvious.” When Minjeong looks up at her, alarmed, she adds, “not to anyone else. I just guessed because you never wanted to talk about it, and you’d never care enough to keep quiet about something unless it really mattered to you.”

“I didn’t know it did,” Minjeong mumbles. “Three years, and I never acted on anything because I thought it didn’t matter. And even then, I kept defending her from everyone—” A hand slides down her face, defeated. “I’ve been so obvious, haven’t I?”

“Not to her, I think.” Yizhuo pauses. “Or maybe she’s just as scared as you are.”

Minjeong’s head jerks up. “What do you mean?”

“Think about it. You ran away from your feelings for three years, but she didn’t talk to you either. Communication is a two-way street. Maybe she was just worried it didn’t mean anything to you.”

“Of course it did—”

“But you hadn’t realized that yet, had you? You were still running away from it.” Yizhuo’s gaze cuts into Minjeong like a knife. “Still are.”

She looks away, swallows. “Why would she care if it meant anything to me? She’s Yoo Jimin, and I’m...”

“Minjeong.” Yizhuo’s voice is softer now. “Did you never once consider that she might reciprocate?”

Minjeong turns back to the window. Her breath fogs the glass, so she traces shapes there. Stars, hearts. Writes a familiar name, too.

“I can’t.” She wipes the glass. Doesn’t erase all of it, leaving traces behind: a Y and a J. “It hurts too much to hope for that.” Even now, aware of the sheer weight of her feelings for Jimin, it’s impossible to grasp its entirety; she can only piece together reflections of it, shards of time spent together, blurry and jumbling into each other at the edges. 

She sucks in a breath, thinks of Jimin’s eyes meeting hers from across the cafeteria, of purple and green strobe lights, of sharing a jacket in the cold. Of holding hands, of all the unspoken words that have passed between them, of forehead kisses. Of secrets shared in the dark, finally brought out into the light.

“Yizhuo,” Minjeong starts, sudden and terrified, “I think I’m in l-”

“I know. You don’t need to tell me,” Yizhuo cuts her off, voice gentle. “Tell her.”

♮

The New Year’s party is in full swing when Minjeong arrives, windows glowing like stars and cars parked around the block. She elbows her way through swarms of people and finds Aeri in the living room, talking with Felix about the order of the stripes in the bisexual pride flag.

“Honestly, all I know is that the purple one’s in the middle,” Felix’s saying when Minjeong comes up to them. “Hi, Minjeong. Is the blue stripe or the pink stripe the one on top?”

Minjeong has to pause for a moment. “The pink one, I think. Aeri, do you know where—”

“Jimin went upstairs,” Aeri says before Minjeong can finish her question. “Good luck. Her favorite flowers are carnations, by the way.”

A surprised laugh escapes from Minjeong’s chest. “Thank you,” she says, voice laden with sincerity. ”I’ll remember that.”

Minjeong checks a dozen different rooms and walks in on more than one couple making out before eventually finding Jimin. She’s sitting in a circle with many of the dance team members, a bottle in the center. The familiar scenario unknowingly brings a smile to her face, and she slips into the circle next to Jongho, a friend from choir.

“What are you guys playing?” she whispers. Jimin hasn’t noticed her yet.

“Truth or dare,” Jongho whispers back, pointing at Mark and Mingi holding mics and hurling insults at each other. “Mingi got dared to challenge Mark to a rap battle. They’ve been doing this for the past ten minutes.”

Minjeong watches in amusement as the disses fly back and forth between Mark and Mingi, the crowd whooping at every line. Eventually Ryujin intervenes and ends the rap battle, to the disappointment of some onlookers, and the relief of others. They shake hands, surprisingly cordial considering Mark just called Mingi “Jeong Yunho’s shoeshiner.”

“Follow my SoundCloud @fixonmingi,” Mingi shouts, stepping up to spin the bottle. Across the circle, Jimin leans forward slightly, still unaware of Minjeong’s presence.

The bottle lands on Jimin.

The dance team members erupt into cheers, excited for a chance to interrogate their captain or force her to do something embarrassing. A slight smile plays at Jimin’s lips as the underclassmen egg her on. “Truth,” she says, to the groans of Soeun, Jiyoon, and the younger Jimin, who evidently wanted her to pick dare.

“Huh, I can’t think of anything,” Mingi says, bemused. His boyfriend Yunho whispers something in his ear.

“You’re so lame, but I can’t think of anything better,” Mingi sighs. “Do you have feelings for anyone in this room?”

The air vanishes from Minjeong’s lungs.

Jimin’s eyes drag over the crowd. A brief bloom of surprise on her face when her eyes meet Minjeong’s, so brief that she can’t tell if she imagined it or not. Gaze slow as it sweeps over the rest of the room, breaths held in anticipation.

Jimin turns back to face Mingi. “Yes,” she says evenly, not a hint of hesitation in her voice. 

The circle bombards her with a series of questions but Minjeong doesn’t hear any of them, mind whirling. Hears Yizhuo’s voice, _did you never once consider that she might reciprocate?,_ and her response, _it hurts too much to hope for that._ Knows that the feeling welling in her chest like blood from an open wound is that very same one, no matter how much she tries to stop it.

The next few turns pass in a blur, hope prickling relentless and desperate at her skin. She doesn’t even realize the bottle’s landed on her until Jongho nudges her side. “Minjeong, you’re up.”

She jolts out of her reverie to see Seoyeon in the center, looking at her expectantly. From the corner of her eye, Jimin is looking at her, gaze burning hot. Her voice, echoing calm and defiant in Minjeong’s ears: _Yes._

She sucks in a breath. “Dare.”

“Nice, finally a dare,” Seoyeon says, pumping her fist. “Hm... I dare you to spin the bottle and kiss whoever it lands on.”

Minjeong’s heart leaps into her throat. She can’t back down now, not with everyone’s eyes on her, waiting for her next move. She prays to fate, coincidence, whatever the hell’s been urging them together this entire time — from that dark closet three years ago to names at the top of the lab partners sheet to here and now, hearts pounding in time with the music — reaches out a hand to the bottle, and spins.

It lands on Heejin.

_Fuck._

Minjeong’s stomach sinks like an anchor careening to the bottom of the ocean. Heejin moves forward but looks equally reluctant, glancing sideways at her best friend Hyunjin, whose scowl makes it look like she’s trying to telepathically blow up Minjeong’s head. Minjeong doesn’t blame her — she can’t even imagine just how furious she’d be if someone got dared to kiss Jimin.

_Jimin._

Minjeong looks at Jimin and the rest of the world slips away.

Not shock. Not hurt. Nothing. Jimin’s expression doesn’t contain a hint of emotion, gaze disinterested and impartial as she looks back at Minjeong. Pulling a memory to the surface; Minjeong defending her all those years ago, and Jimin reaching out a hand to the bottle. Then brings her back to yesterday; Jimin’s eyes on her lips and turning away, a resolute “no” replacing the echoes of “yes”.

That’s when it hits her: if Jimin doesn’t have feelings for her, that means she has feelings for someone else. As if the idea of Jimin being dared to kiss someone else doesn’t already have her stomach twisting into knots, the idea of Jimin kissing someone else because she _wants_ to — it makes her dizzy with anguish, strikes her square between her ribs and digs, cruel and unrelenting, until it reaches the most vulnerable parts of herself.

“Okay,” Minjeong breathes, laying a hand on Heejin’s cheek. The shape of her jaw is different. She smells like cedar. It’s all _wrong._

Jimin stands aside, watching.

Minjeong’s chest tears into pieces. She inhales slowly, closes her eyes, and leans in.

A hand yanks her away before their lips touch.

The crowd explodes into chaos, shouts of “Jimin!” and “Hyunjin!” coalescing into one messy jumble of sound and movement that grows distant as the hand on her arm leads her away. Minjeong can’t see who it is, since their hair is covering her face, but their shampoo smells like lavender.

They stop in an empty bedroom, door slamming shut with such force that it snaps Minjeong’s muddled brain back into reality. She untangles herself from Jimin’s grasp to see her locking the door, ignoring the insistent knocks from outside. “Jimin, why—”

Then Jimin turns to face her, and some part of Minjeong just _knows._ The music pumping around them like the blood of a wild animal, the bare streaks of light coming in through the window, Jimin’s eyes flickering down to her lips and dark with intent.

She doesn’t know who leans in first. All she knows is Jimin’s mouth urgent and demanding on hers, citron electricity numbing her lips, three years’ worth of pent-up frustration finally letting itself free. A caged bird bursting into the air. Jimin nips at her lip, tongue following to soothe the burn, and Minjeong gasps into the heat of her mouth.

(She still tastes like lemon-lime.)

They break apart with heaving breaths, deafening silence ringing in the air. Minjeong unconsciously raises a hand to touch her lips. Jimin just kissed her.

Fuck. Jimin just _kissed_ her.

“Why did— why did you kiss me?” Minjeong splutters.

“I don’t know?” Jimin rakes a hand through her hair, equally flustered. “Why did you kiss me back?”

“I just wanted to!” Minjeong retorts, unthinking.

“Well maybe I wanted to kiss you too!” Jimin fires back, shoulders raised like she’s gearing up to say something.

It never comes. Instead, they burst into ab-clutching laughter, practically falling over themselves with the absurdity of it all. Minjeong collapses onto the bed, wiping tears from her eyes as she wheezes. Jimin’s wiping tears from her eyes too, except her chuckles have turned watery, and wait. She’s crying.

_Oh god, she’s crying._ Minjeong scoops her into her arms, feels her body tremble. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Jimin breathes, eyes glittering like stars. “I just— god, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Me too,” Minjeong admits, and then her breath hitches and her eyes are stinging. She blinks hard, but a tear escapes down her cheek. Jimin presses a delicate kiss there, and Minjeong’s heart seizes, ignites.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers, and Minjeong’s head jerks up to protest but Jimin holds up a hand for her to wait. “I’m sorry for not talking to you for three whole years. I really wanted to, but I couldn’t work up the courage, and the longer I waited the more I felt like I’d lost my chance.”

Minjeong shakes her head vigorously. “No, don’t be sorry about that. Communication is a two-way street, and I wasn’t able to talk to you either.” Her hand finds Jimin’s, fingers slotting together like they were made for each other. “I was trying so hard to pretend the kiss didn’t matter to me because I didn’t see why it would matter to you, because you’re _you,_ and—”

“Don’t say that,” Jimin says fiercely. “You protect me. You fight for me. You make me a better person. You work so hard and don’t care what anyone says about you, you listened to my favorite songs without me even having to ask, you didn’t tell me you hate Disney movies just so we could watch them together, you’re— you’re _everything._ ”

Then, a chorus of voices, reverberating through the walls and shaking them to their cores: “TEN! NINE!”

Their eyes meet. Moving as one, they rush towards the balcony, throwing open the doors and bursting into the frigid night air. Snowflakes drift down around them, the whole city a miracle of color, a blank white canvas awash with amber streetlights and glowing neon signs.

“SIX! FIVE!”

“You’re wrong, by the way,” Minjeong says. Jimin turns towards her, gaze questioning. “ _You’re_ everything.”

“THREE! TWO!”

Minjeong leans in, breath brushing against her lips. A bubble expanding around them, swallowing up the whole world. “I love you.”

“ONE!”

Their lips meet just as the fireworks burst into the monochrome sky, blooming into kaleidoscopic silver and purple and green, radiant color that mirrors the patterns of Minjeong’s heart.

♮

“I don’t actually hate Disney movies, y’know,” Minjeong says as they watch the fireworks, arms leant on the balcony railing. “They’re just not my cup of tea, since I prefer action movies and all. Who told you?”

“Yizhuo,” Jimin answers, grinning.

“Little schemer,” Minjeong grumbles. “She knew this entire time that I had feelings for you and let me flail around like an idiot trying to figure it out myself.”

“She and Aeri had a bet going, actually,” Jimin says, eyes crinkling up in a smile. “I overheard them talking about it. Aeri bet her Blackpink poster that you’d confess first, and Yizhuo bet the birthday present she bought for you that I’d confess first.”

“Of course Yizhuo would bet my birthday present.” Minjeong rolls her eyes, then registers what she’d just said. “Wait. It’s my birthday.”

“Yeah, it is,” Jimin chuckles. “Did you not realize?”

“I was a _little_ preoccupied,” Minjeong says, leaning over to snag an arm around Jimin’s waist. “What did you get me?”

Jimin pouts, turning Minjeong’s knees to jelly. “Me becoming your girlfriend isn’t enough of a birthday present?”

_Girlfriend? Oh my god, girlfriend._ Minjeong flounders as she tries to think of a response, head turned upside down by that one word. _Jimin’s my girlfriend—_

“Yeah, I am,” Jimin laughs. Did she say that out loud? “Also, I’m just kidding about not getting you a present. I got you a Seventeen album and a Seungkwan photocard.”

Minjeong releases a breath, smile stretching across her face. “You’re the best girlfriend ever,” she says, and leans in to kiss her under the glittering stars.

♮

_3:07am_

**mindungie 😎💕** : we’re idiots

**mindungie 😎💕** : i can’t believe it took three whole years for us to get here

**yooji 🥰🥺** : four years for me actually, because i had a crush on you ever since middle school

**yooji 🥰🥺** : when you gave your speech for class president

**mindungie 😎💕** : OMG

**mindungie 😎💕** : wait so u rly had a crush on me for that long?

**yooji 🥰🥺** : don’t let it get to your head, i just thought you were cute

**mindungie 😎💕** : awww babe, u had a crush on me

**mindungie 😎💕** : that’s so embarrassing 🤭

**yooji 🥰🥺** : guard your seungkwan photocard tonight

_3:15am_

**yooji 🥰🥺** : btw i’m blaming you for us taking so long

**yooji 🥰🥺** : i was being super obvious, you’re just so dense

**mindungie 😎💕** : counterpoint, i was also being really obvious

**yooji 🥰🥺** : when we were watching movies and you asked me if i liked you and i said yes

**yooji 🥰🥺** : i meant it in a romantic way and it totally flew over your head

**mindungie 😎💕** : HOLY SHIT

**mindungie 😎💕** : ok u win

♮

**DANCE SHOWCASE SETLIST** , Page 1

Scream by Dreamcatcher: Jung Yunho, Jung Wooyoung, Choi San, Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Felix, Bae Jinyoung, Yoon Hyunsuk

Hit by Seventeen: Yoo Jimin, Jeon Heejin, Kim Hyunjin, Choi Yerim, Son Hyejoo, Hwang Yeji, Shin Ryujin, Lee Chaeryeong, Lee Chaeyoung, Lee Nakyung, Lee Soojin, Kim Jimin, Park Soeun

…

♮

**smhsdanceteam:** highlights from the girls’ performance of hit by seventeen!

Liked by **minjjeongie** and 463 others

Comments:

**minjjeongie:** that’s my gf right there!!! look at her go!!!!

**yuja_yooji:** @minjjeongie i can hear you doing the fanchant, so cute **🥺** 💕

**ningsquared:** @minjjeongie @yuja_yooji get a room!!

**aerishilton:** @minjjeongie @yuja_yooji right in front of my salad

♮

“What’d you get for question 4?”

“Dihydrogen phosphate.”

“Sweet, I got that too.” Minjeong fist-pumps. “And the last free response?”

“Silver chloride precipitate,” Jimin answers. “Double-replacement reaction between silver nitrate and sodium chloride.”

“Nice, I think we did really well.” Minjeong runs her thumb along the back of Jimin’s hand. “Studying with you literally saved me, I don’t think I could’ve gotten half those questions if we hadn’t gone over the material beforehand.”

Jimin hums appreciatively, pressing a soft kiss to Minjeong’s temple. They’ve just taken a chemistry test, and since they were the first ones to finish it, the teacher let them leave class early. Now they’re wandering the halls, wearing each other’s jackets, a Sprite in Jimin’s free hand that Minjeong had bought for her at the cafeteria vending machine.

“Hey, there’s Aeri and Yizhuo’s history classroom,” Minjeong says, pointing down the hall. “I’ve been meaning to ask, are you okay with it if they join us to eat lunch in the choir room?”

“Of course,” Jimin says, leaning on the lockers outside the classroom door. “The more people who get to watch you fail at playing piano, the better.”

“That reflects on your abilities as a teacher, not mine,” Minjeong says teasingly. In actuality, Jimin’s a great piano teacher, and not just because she puts her hands over Minjeong’s to show her how to do it correctly all the time.

“That reminds me,” Jimin says, tucking her hair behind her ear. Minjeong knows that means she’s nervous, squeezes her hand and feels her relax. “The song I played for you the first time, Merry-Go-Round of Life? I don’t know if other musicians do this, but it’s one of the songs that I reserve to play only for someone I love.”

Minjeong thinks back to Jimin playing that song for her, remembers the feeling that welled up in her chest that she didn’t have a name for. _Huh, so that’s what it was._

Jimin’s cheeks are rosy pink at her confession, knuckles white from her grip on Minjeong’s hand. “I love you too,” Minjeong says tenderly. Presses a kiss to the mole under Jimin’s mouth.

“You guys are gross,” comes Aeri’s voice. Minjeong startles, turning to see Aeri and Yizhuo standing next to them. She hadn’t even noticed that the bell rang. “But I’m happy for you.”

“I’m happy for you too, mostly because I don’t have to deal with Minjeong gay panicking all the time,” Yizhuo says, eliciting an eye roll from Minjeong. She glances down at the flower pinned to Jimin’s lapel. “That’s pretty, what kind of flower is it?”

“Carnation,” Jimin and Minjeong say at the same time, then burst into laughter, attracting stares from students in the hallway.

“I guess we really do have _chemistry,_ ” Jimin says, grinning from ear to ear.

Minjeong’s mouth drops open. “You did not.”

A sizable crowd has formed around them, heads craning to watch. News of the spin the bottle game had spread around the party like wildfire, and the entire school latched onto their official relationship announcement the following day when Minjeong showed up to Jimin’s basketball game wearing her jersey. Like most things in life, she dove in headfirst, but it’s still a little surreal — she’s gotten multiple fistbumps from members of the dance team and basketball team, and a handful of people have asked her if Jimin will run for student government as her vice president. What’s more, Jimin and Hyunjin have formed an unlikely friendship as the “protective girlfriends squad”, to Minjeong’s chagrin.

(“It’s okay, you’re still my tiny, feisty bodyguard,” Jimin laughs when Minjeong complains that she’s the protective girlfriend out of the two of them.)

Jimin runs a hand through her hair. “Everyone’s staring at us,” she says, rosy blush high on her cheeks. “You know, normally I hate the attention, but I don’t mind this at all.”

Minjeong lays a hand on Jimin’s cheek. “We should give them something to talk about, then,” she murmurs, and leans in.

Minjeong has a philosophy. One that made her accidentally blurt out yes when her future girlfriend asked to kiss her; one that made her start fights to defend her future girlfriend; one that makes her kiss her girlfriend even when the whole school’s watching. And she thought it’d be the death of her someday, but with Jimin in her arms and tasting the smile from her lips, it might be doing just fine.

**Author's Note:**

>   * 13 days and 45 gdocs pages later... it's done! i’m really glad i wrote this bc i haven’t written anything nearly this long in forever, and i really enjoyed getting back into the habit of writing
>   * yes i stole the reanimated cum insult from a jaboukie tweet
>   * ningning and giselle best blinkzens
>   * my karina basketball player agenda… my karina piano player agenda… u can tell that this entire fic is just me projecting
>   * me? paralleling winrina with 2jin? more likely than you think
>   * bonus points for anyone who can guess what song karina was playing on the piano at first, before the howls moving castle theme (hint: google the chord names and listen to them. it’s one of the songs in the fic playlist)
>   * please leave kudos and comment! i thrive on validation :D
>   * my twt is @karinatheworld, send me stuff on ccat
>   * stream black mamba
> 



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